


He Is But a Mortal Man

by jujitsuelf



Category: The Losers (2010), The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Cowboy Cougar, M/M, No offence to any religion anywhere intended, Preacher Jake Jensen, old west au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:29:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujitsuelf/pseuds/jujitsuelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The West was a lawless place at the best of times and sometimes it needed the guiding hand of God. Preacher Jake Jensen did his best to spread the good word. He wasn't always successful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Is But a Mortal Man

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended
> 
> ***
> 
> Inspired by the awesome 3white_mage3, with a random sentence in an equally random discussion. Thanks to aforementioned Mage and Saral_Hylor for the read throughs.
> 
> ***
> 
> As always feedback adored and welcomed with open arms. (Yes, I'm an attention whore)

The saloon was worn and dark and smelled of horses and week-old male sweat. But it served whiskey and that was enough for the cowboys, the place was full to the rafters.

Dragging his dust-ridden hat from his head, Preacher Jake Jensen leaned against the bar and crooked a finger at the man behind it.

The bartender nodded, he knew Jake. At least he knew him by name and reputation, which was as much as any man knew him, really. Jensen was infamous throughout the west as a preacher who would happily set aside his bible and pick up his guns if he thought the safety of his innocent flock was in danger.

At least ten bad men who should’ve known better than to underestimate Jensen were now slowly rotting six feet under in towns from Abilene to Dodge City.

The bartender pushed Jensen’s drink towards him and edged away to serve someone less dangerous.

While the whiskey the saloon served wasn’t good, it wasn’t the worst Jake had ever tasted. It burned a line down into his stomach and lit a comfortable little fire there. He rolled the now empty glass between his palms. Should he look for a possible congregation or just call it a night and find a bed somewhere? Bed seemed by far the easier option.

Lately preaching the good word was like trying to pound scripture into the heads of mules. It wasn’t that the cowhands he met on his travels were bad boys, they just mostly didn’t give much thought to anything beyond the next cattledrive or saloon floozy. He could always look to the townspeople, he supposed, they were generally more willing to listen to him and throw a few cents his way for the privilege of having their souls saved. But honestly, a lot of the people who settled in towns out west were just too pious for Jake to stomach. The cowboys were rough and uneducated mostly, but at least they didn’t suck up to God and think wearing their best on Sundays would make a difference. Maybe that was what made him a bad preacher, he had favourites.

He signalled to the bartender for another drink. Perhaps getting a bit less than sober might get rid of the nagging feeling that he and his bible were wasting their time.

Faith was a less than constant companion, Jake had discovered. Sometimes he felt the true fervour of absolute faith rushing through him as effortlessly as water flowed down a riverbed. Other times he wondered whether God had deserted the west entirely.

As he let the rough liquor slide down his throat and fan the flames of the fire in his gut, something like unease prickled at the back of Jake’s neck. Looking round, carefully unconcerned, he tried to find the eyes he was sure were on him. It wouldn’t be the first time some drunk cowhand had decided to pick a quarrel with the famous ‘Fighting Preacher’.

The only eyes he found gazing in his direction, however, held no malice at all. They belonged to a slim, black-haired cowboy and they were, Jake had to admit, nice eyes. Dark and inscrutable, they looked, if anything, faintly amused.

Jake looked down at his hands, then back up at the cowboy, who didn’t move or speak. Trying a tiny smile on for size, Jake said, “Somethin’ I can help you with, friend?”

The dark-eyed cowboy shook his head slowly, then tossed back a whiskey. Jake watched the man’s throat work as he swallowed it. His own mouth suddenly went dry.

Maybe it was the faint amusement still lingering in that dark gaze but Jake got the impression he was being weighed and measured. Whether he’d been found wanting yet, he wasn’t sure.

“You in need of a preacher?” he tried again.

“Nope.” The cowboy’s voice was soft and calm.

“You mind tellin’ me why you’re staring at me, then?” Jake demanded.

The cowboy didn’t reply, but smiled and picked up his hat from where it lay on the bar.

A jolt of something Jake hadn’t felt in a long time, slithered down deep into his belly. His lips were dry and cracked beneath his tongue and his throat too dry for comfort.

The knowing smile on the cowboy’s face grew. Settling his hat on his head, he nodded to the bartender, then turned on his heel.

Jake watched him walk unhurriedly away, heading for the stairs which led to the bedrooms on the next floor. The saloon doubled as the best, and only, hotel in town. He rubbed a finger over the bristles around his mouth, wondering whether there was actually any doubt that he’d soon follow those dark eyes and slim hips.

The little whiskey glass was warm in his hand, he had his fist clenched around it. Wouldn’t be long before he shattered it and ended up with a palm full of glass. Forcing himself to relax his grip, he skimmed the glass back to the bartender and straightened up. To hell with it, he’d been riding for what felt like weeks and hadn’t seen many friendly faces who cared to listen to what he had to say. Maybe the dark-eyed cowboy was a sign from God that he needed to take a night off from worrying about his and everyone else’s immortal souls and concentrate on the sins of the flesh.

Sinning was, after all, his main business. And how could a man preach about sin when he’d never experienced it first hand? Jake’s feet led him to the foot of the stairs. Sin wasn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes it was an instrument of education. Sometimes it just felt damn good to let go and not worry about anything, and Jake knew he’d have to apologize to God for that one in the morning. His boots made dull thuds on the wooden steps as he made his way upstairs.

The fire in his belly was hotter now, curling out to make his fingers and toes tingle with glorious anticipation.

Most of the bedroom doors were closed and Jake could hear giggles and grunts and sounds of men doing what men like to do after they’ve spent weeks out in bare country with nothing but their cattle to look at. Seeing as he was doing much the same thing, he couldn’t find it in himself to be disapproving. A preacher he might be, but hypocritical he was not.

One door at the end of the landing stood open. Jake made his way slowly toward it, excitement fluttering in his stomach. The dark-eyed cowboy lounged on the simple bed, all long legs and lean muscle and black hair which spilled down over his shoulders.

Jake leaned against the doorframe and looked his fill. He’d long since resigned himself to the fact that men like this would be his guarantee of a ticket to hell when his time came. But why give mankind bodies and the ability to use them to create such pleasureable feelings and then declare it a sin? Jake always struggled to equate that with the kindly guiding hand he believed God to be. Not for the first time, he suspected the bible may have been re-written over the centuries and now represented individual’s opinions rather than those of God himself.

“You comin’ in or not?” the cowboy asked lazily.

Jake smiled and stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. “You do know you’re propsitioning a man of God, don’t you?”

“Big words for a simple cowboy,” the man replied, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “I ain’t doin’ nothing. Just gonna lay here a while and get some rest.”

A smooth, tanned chest appeared between the edges of the shirt and Jake felt himself falling into deeper lust than he’d ever felt before. Before he knew what he was doing, he saw his own hands pushing the cowboy’s shoulders flat to the bed and his tongue grazed down over that wonderful naked skin.

“I’m Jake,” he managed to mutter before sucking a dark nipple into his mouth.

“Cougar,” the cowboy replied with a very enjoyable gasp.

“Still a man of God, you know,” Jake said, dragging his tongue up Cougar’s neck.

Cougar laughed, deep and low. “Tell God to look the other way for tonight.” He hooked a hand around the back of Jake’s neck and tugged him into a lush, wet kiss.

As Jake toed off his boots and struggled to get rid of his clothes he wondered briefly whether he should bother enquiring about the state of Cougar’s soul. Then Cougar mouthed at his cock through his pants and all rational thoughts left Jake’s brain. Cougar was right, for tonight God could just turn away and look somewhere else, Jake was after all, only human.


End file.
